On Glorious Wings

by Stephen Coonts

  The approaching planes grew larger with astounding speed, and suddenly the terrific dog fight was on. All semblance of formation was abandoned; it was every man for himself, now.

  A Fokker was coming at Jimmy from the side. In desperation he thrashed the stick about and kicked rudder. He heard Spandau slugs pounding on the back of his fuselage just as a Fokker was crossing his sights. Like a flash Jimmy aimed his gun with a movement of stick and rudder and clamped down on the triggers. His Vickers guns lashed out. He watched the tracers crash into the center section of the Fokker, and down went his stick. The tracer ribbons slashed into the cockpit and riddled across it.

  He saw the pilot jerk backward as bullets stabbed through his body. The Fokker leaped up, stalled, and began spinning down out of control.

  The roar of the Spandau and Vickers guns was deafening. Jimmy found himself flying through a haze of yellow and white tracer smoke. He heard the pounding of Spandau slugs on his tail section, eating up toward his cockpit.

  He sent his crate into a wild, gyrating movement. Jimmy was too busy saving his neck, too busy knocking down Fokkers before they knocked him down, to be scared.

  Two Jerry ships came in, one from either side, to catch him in their crossfire. Somehow he managed to send his Spad whirling over in a lightning maneuver.

  Another Fokker that was pulling up into a stall under the belly of a Spad was about to cross his sights. Down went Jimmy Putnam’s triggers again and his guns yammered out. The Fokker dove for the ground, a dead pilot at the stick.

  _____

  In the maelstrom of tangled planes, Jimmy recognized Wingy Corbett’s Spad, and he saw that a Fokker with a black fuselage was riding his tail. Instantly Jimmy Putnam snarled after the Fokker. Split seconds meant the difference between life and death, and he fought to get his sights on that Jerry ship. Wingy Corbett was flying like the devil himself to shake the Fokkers from his tail, but the black-fuselaged crate was hanging on like a leech.

  Suddenly Jimmy had his sights trained on the Fokker cockpit. He jammed on his triggers and his Vickers guns stuttered. At that same instant, yellow tracers ribboned out from the Fokker and crashed into the cockpit, gas tank, and engine of Wingy’s Spad. His ship burst into flames and black smoke belched out, covering the cockpit completely.

  Jimmy Putnam was frozen to his stick and triggers. He compensated slightly, and suddenly his tracers were slamming into the Fokker cockpit. The Fokker was suddenly a ball of fire. The two ships, Wingy Corbett’s Spad and the Fokker of the man who had sent him to his hellish death, streaked down side by side to eternity.

  The firing had ceased. The Fokkers that remained were streaking toward home, and Jimmy Putnam was trailing along behind Bert Holbert’s lead. He stared about the sky in a daze and began counting the Spads. There had been fifteen of them when they started out; there were eleven now. He spotted Ted Gleason’s ship. That meant Gleason and Bert Holbert, two pilots whose names he could remember, were alive.

  Jimmy was still pretty much in a daze when he landed back at the field. Captain Warren was out to meet them. He stared at the eleven planes.

  “Where’s the rest?” he demanded of Holbert and Gleason.

  “Down,” Holbert told him. “About twenty Heinies hopped on us. Wingy Corbett went down in flames. Besides that, each flight lost a man apiece.”

  He mentioned their names.

  “That’s too bad,” Captain Warren said, with about as much feeling in his voice as though he were talking of lost sales at a business conference. “Confound it, you men have got to do better than that.”

  “You should have been there,” Ted Gleason said savagely.

  “What do you mean by that?” Captain Warren demanded.

  Gleason didn’t back down.

  “Just what I said,” he snorted. “All you do is stay on the ground and tell us how to win a war. What do you know about air fighting?”

  “I know men,” Warren snapped, glaring through his glasses. “I know what makes them fight and win battles, and that’s enough for any commander to know. And if there’s any more cracks from you, Gleason, I’ll bust you all the way down to a private.”

  “That,” Gleason snapped, “would be a pleasure if I could get out of this outfit.”

  “Silence!” Warren yelled. He glared at the other pilots. “What’s the matter with you? Why couldn’t you beat those Fokkers?”

  Bert Holbert spoke up, then, angrily.

  “We did beat them.” he said. “Twenty of them attacked us. They shot down four of our ships and we shot down five of theirs. The newest man here, Putnam, got three of them.

  Captain Warren stared at Jimmy.

  “Is that true, Jimmy?” he demanded.

  Jimmy nodded.

  “I think so, sir,” he nodded.

  “Fine, excellent!” Warren barked. “What’s the matter with the rest of you men? Here a new man comes to the field, and although he’s never been over the lines before, yet he brings down three enemy planes on his first trip. That’s the kind of fighting I want to see in this squadron. That takes bravery. Now I want you all to rest up for the dawn patrol tomorrow morning. If you’ll follow Lieutenant Putnam’s lead, we’ll get somewhere. We can show the Germans how we Americans can fight.”

  With that, Captain Warren strode down the field and Jimmy Putnam stared after him.

  He scarcely realized the others were standing around him as he said half to himself, “Holy Gee, does he expect me to do that every time?”

  Bert Holbert, his flight leader, laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, kid,” he said. “Pay no attention to him. If you ask me, he’s crazy.”

  The others chimed in to offer their congratulations.

  That night at evening mess, Jimmy learned much about the squadron’s history. Except for Bert Holbert and Ted Gleason, who had been with the 101st for a little over a month and were considered veterans; the oldest man in the outfit had been there only ten days. He was Bill Farley. As he himself put it, he was mighty lucky to have stayed alive that long.

  “There will be four replacements up tomorrow,” Bert Holbert told Jimmy. “They’ll get the same line that you got. Lufberry, Rickenbacker, and Luke. They don’t fear death, they’re not afraid of anything, and all that stuff. If they’re already scared when they reach the field, they’ll be twice as scared when Warren gets through working on them.”

  The glory of shooting down three enemy planes didn’t mean much to Jimmy Putnam. He slept little that night, and when it was time for the dawn patrol, he was as jittery as he had been before his first trip the day before. Lufberry, Rickenbacker, and Luke. He dreamed of those names; they became a nightmare to him. They were fearless men, afraid of nothing. And what was he? He was as scared as a rabbit on the run. Afraid that the next morning would be his last.

  There were eleven planes on the line at dawn. Captain Warren was there to give them the same old pep talk. Courage. Don’t be afraid of anything.

  Jimmy Putnam tried to steel himself against his fear. He talked to himself as he held his position in the one big formation in which the 101st planes flew this time. He tried to tell himself that he must not be afraid, but strong and courageous. Again and again he talked to himself, and at the end of each talk, he held out his free hand with fingers extended. Each time his fingers shook like aspen leaves in a stiff wind. He was no good—just a scared kid. Spandau slugs would surely pick him off.

  As they reached the lines, a flight of sixteen Fokkers came storming at them. Hissos and Mercedes screamed at each other and Spandau and Vickers tracers tangled their yellow and white ribbons. When the fighting was over, Jimmy Putnam was still alive, even though his Spad was sieved full of holes, and he had two more Fokkers to his credit.

  Bert Holbert had gone down out of control and Jimmy had seen him crash horribly in No Man’s Land. Four of the newer men had gone the same way, two of them in flames.

  Six Spads came back to the field of the 101st.
Captain Warren said it was too bad that five of the men had been lost, but whatever grief he felt was completely drowned by his pleasure in finding out that Jimmy Putnam had become an ace in his first two trips over the lines.

  “Excellent work, Putnam,” he praised. “Commendable. Why don’t the rest of you fight like Putnam instead of lying down?”

  Jimmy Putnam stood up against him.

  “Nobody laid down, Captain Warren,” he said. “Everyone did his best. I just happened to be lucky.”

  “Nonsense,” the C. O. snorted. “You couldn’t be lucky twice in succession like that. It was sheer courage and bravery that brought you through. I’ll send for more replacements at once.”

  Late that afternoon, two groups of replacements arrived. There were nine all together. That brought the squadron up to a full fifteen pilots. At four o’clock, Captain Warren assembled the men on the tarmac.

  “Putnam,” he said, “you will be the leader of your flight from now on. Gleason, you will lead C flight and be senior flight leader as well. Farley, you will head A flight.”

  Then came the usual harangue on bravery. Jimmy Putnam, only twenty-four hours with the squadron, watched and pitied the replacements. He saw their knees wobble as they walked to their planes, saw their hands tremble as they climbed in. He was still pretty scared himself, but he forgot part of his fear in his sympathy for these nine new men. It made him a little proud to lead B flight, but he felt deeply the loss of Holbert who had gone down that morning and Wingy Corbett, who had gone the day before.

  They encountered no enemy planes that afternoon. Ted Gleason saw to it that they patrolled quiet areas. As he explained at mess afterward, he wanted to give the new men a chance to catch their breath before he plunged them into action.

  They got their first taste of real air combat on the next patrol, when they ran into a group of enemy planes. Jimmy Putnam accounted for two German ships. Three of the replacements were left behind as the 101st flew home.

  The third day after that, Ted Gleason went down in flames. By that time Jimmy had chalked up nine victories for himself, but he felt no glory in that fact; he had killed only to keep the Germans from killing him or some of his squadron mates. After evening mess, Captain Warren called him into headquarters office.

  “I’m appointing you as senior flight leader, Putnam,” he said. “That’s all.”

  Jimmy did a great deal of thinking from then on, for he felt his new responsibility keenly. The lives of the present personnel of the 101st Squadron and those of the replacements who filled the gaps left by the scared kids who had gone west depended upon him. He realized where his own strength lay. At every opportunity, all during his training, he had practised in the gun pits, on the rifle ranges, and at trap shooting to quicken his eye.

  He got one more Fokker on the dawn patrol, making his score ten, but the outfit lost three men. It was getting to be a regular thing. Young replacements arrived at the field, feeling that their appointment to the 101st was as good as a death sentence.

  But Jimmy Putnam was working on a new tack. Whenever the men were free from patrol, he had them down in the gun pits, shooting at moving targets. He taught them all he knew about marksmanship, about quick firing, and about the coordination of aim and trigger fingers.

  By now Jimmy Putnam had twelve Fokkers to his credit. There had apparently been a change in the personnel of the opposing German staffel. Baron von Yessel had been moved up with his squadron of crack German pilots to stem the phenomenal record that Jimmy was running up.

  One day, after Jimmy’s record had mounted to thirteen Fokkers, an enemy ship came screaming over the field. It was painted black from tip to tip. As it roared by, a message streamer ribboned out from the cockpit and fluttered to the ground.

  In the pocket of the streamer was a challenge from Baron von Yessel to Jimmy Putnam to meet him over No Man’s Land, at dawn, for a fight to the finish. Every pilot at the field knew about that challenge before Captain Warren heard of it. When the news reached him, he called Jimmy into his office.

  “Putnam,” he said, “you’re not going to accept that challenge.”

  Jimmy stared at him.

  “What do you mean?” he demanded.

  “I mean,” Warren continued, “that we are not going to chance losing you on a fool mission like that. This Baron von Yessel has you marked for the kill. It may be a trap. I won’t let you go. The 101st can’t afford to lose you. You’re too valuable.”

  “You’ve done a great deal of talking about my courage,” Jimmy reminded him. “I’m not going to let the boys think I’m afraid this time.”

  “You’ll follow my orders,” Captain Warren snapped. “Tomorrow morning you will go out on the regular patrol with the men. That’s all.”

  But Jimmy Putnam had his own ideas on courage. At dawn he prepared for the regular patrol. As flight leader of the 101st, he led his men from the field, then he motioned them to a safe area, cut out of formation, and headed for the point over No Man’s Land that the Baron Von Yessel had designated.

  Jimmy was tense and nervous, but he calmed down a little as he saw the Baron’s black ship circling high over No Man’s Land. The two screamed at each other in open attack. They were the only two planes in the sky at that point.

  They maneuvered carefully, each trying to gain an advantage. Spandau and Vickers bullets ripped wing covering to ribbons. For almost a half hour they fought in plain sight of the German and American lines, neither being able to down the other.

  Jimmy’s ammunition was getting low, and he knew he must save his last ten slugs for a final burst. Suddenly, the baron held up his hands in a signal, waved, and turned north. He had run out of ammunition, too. Jimmy Putnam answered the signal in similar fashion and the two parted.

  If Captain Warren received news of the forbidden battle, he said nothing about it to Jimmy. He continued to give his pep talks and hold Jimmy up as the shining example of courage, and Jimmy went on training the men at target practise. Each day thousands of rounds of ammunition were poured into bullseyes. Even the greenest replacements were becoming almost as accurate with their machine guns as Jimmy himself.

  One evening at mess, Captain Warren got up importantly to make a speech.

  “Men,” he said, “within an hour or so, two very important things are going to happen here. First, Colonel Stanford, our Wing commander, is going to visit the field for inspection. Immediately afterward, you will all take off and fly to the Front. The Yank forces are beginning a drive and they will need your cooperation. You will drive back every German plane in sight.”

  In a half hour, Colonel Stanford arrived at the field. Pilots and planes were lined up for inspection.

  While the colonel stood there before the men, Captain Warren began his usual pep talk.

  “Men,” he said, “there are too many of you here who are cowards. But we have one notable exception, of whom we are very proud. That man is Lieutenant Putnam. He has become an ace almost three times over, and it is because of his unfailing courage. I want you all to look at him as he stands there. He isn’t afraid of anything; he’s brave and fearless—the way all of you men should be.”

  Something snapped inside Jimmy Putnam. He marched out of the line and stood before Captain Warren, and while the colonel listened, he said, “Captain Warren, you’re wrong. I’m not brave. I’m not a great hero. I’m going to talk to the men in my own way, and I’m going to make them understand.”

  Captain Warren roared angrily, “I forbid you to speak of anything but courage!”

  At that point, Colonel Stanford stepped up.

  “Just a moment, Captain Warren,” he said. “Let the lieutenant talk to the men.”

  Jimmy turned to his squadron mates.

  “Fellows,” he said, “as long as you have been at the field, you’ve heard Captain Warren tell you how brave I am. He’s been holding me up as an example of a superman. I think I know the feelings that you’ve all had, because I’ve been through the same
thing myself. Ever since I came to the 101st, Captain Warren has made me feel that all the big aces were supermen who possessed a type of courage that I could never hope to have.

  “But I’ve had one advantage. I’ve done target practise constantly and I’ve improved my aim as much as possible. I’ve been trying to train you fellows the same way, until now practically every man among you can drill a bullseye as well as I can. We’re going out now to try and drive enemy planes back while this push of ours is going on. Remember, as you go out there with me, that I’m just as scared as you are—and that you can shoot just as well as I can. It takes only one bullet to kill a German, you know.”

  He turned to his plane.

  He didn’t look once at Captain Warren. All fifteen planes swept off the field and roared toward the Front. The Yanks had already started the push against the German lines, and Fokkers roared out of the northeast to straff the advancing Yanks.

  But the men of the 101st were imbued with a new confidence by the knowledge that the great and the small were pretty much alike. Not once, since Captain Warren had taken command, had the men of the 101st fought as they did on this morning. In spite of the fact that they were outnumbered by the Fokkers, they drove them back. There were losses on both sides, but when the Yank advance had stopped after pushing the Germans back for a considerable distance, Jimmy Putnam found that his outfit was much better off than the German squadron.

  Colonel Stanford was waiting at the field for them when they landed. The wise old Wing commander smiled and spoke to them.

  “You won’t see Captain Warren around here again very soon. I had no idea this sort of thing was going on. He’s been relieved of his post and we’re looking for a new commander for this outfit.” He was looking at Jimmy. “Lieutenant Putnam, from now on, you’ll be in charge of the 101st.”

  A loud cheer went up from the pilots clustered about Jimmy, the youngster who had given them a new lease on life and a chance to continue living in spite of the fact that they were attached to the suicide 101st.